[Sunday Afternoon, 14:00 – Police Station, Interrogation Room]
The dull hum of the fluorescent lights filled the room as the chief, a grizzled man with tired eyes, sat across from Aamon and Anundr. A thick manila folder lay on the table, but it wasn't open yet. The chief leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on Anundr.
"Alright, let's cut the crap," the chief said, sliding a photo onto the table. It was of the photos they had confiscated from Anundr's jacket. "Care to explain why you're carrying images of weapons? And not just any weapons—these are bombs, military-grade stuff. The kind of thing that raises alarms."
Anundr opened his mouth to respond, his face calm but with a faint edge of annoyance. Before he could say anything, Aamon leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable but his tone smooth as silk.
"Oh, that," Aamon said casually, as though it were a trivial misunderstanding. "We're photographers. You know, adventurers, capturing the gritty and unconventional side of life. These photos? They're for a series we're working on—'Humanity's Legacy of Destruction.'" He gestured subtly with his hand as he spoke, weaving his words with effortless confidence.
The chief raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt, letting Aamon continue.
"We were hiking through the area, scouting locations for a follow-up shoot. The mines seemed like a good spot—abandoned, eerie. We didn't realize it was private property until, well..." He shrugged, his tone shifting slightly to one of sheepishness. "Your officers kindly informed us."
The chief narrowed his eyes. "And why didn't you mention this earlier?"
Aamon leaned back, adopting an air of mild exasperation. "We figured we'd explain everything to you directly, chief. No need to cause unnecessary confusion. We respect the law, after all."
The chief sat in silence for a moment, studying Aamon's face. His tone remained skeptical. "Even if what you're saying is true, trespassing is still trespassing. You're lucky this isn't turning into something bigger."
Aamon nodded solemnly. "We understand completely. We'll take full responsibility for our mistake."
The chief sighed, rubbing his temples. "Alright, you're both staying here for a week. Paperwork's a pain, but you'll be out soon enough. Consider this a lesson."
[Sunday Night, 22:30 – Holding Cell]
The faint sound of a distant clock ticking filled the otherwise quiet holding area. Aamon lay stretched out on the bench, one arm draped over his eyes, while Anundr sat upright, his back straight against the cold wall.
A faint noise echoed through the station—a low, rumbling vibration that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. Anundr tilted his head slightly, his calm demeanor unshaken. "Do you hear that?"
Aamon moved his arm, revealing narrowed eyes staring up at the ceiling. "Yeah," he murmured. "Something's coming."
Anundr nodded, his voice low and even. "It doesn't sound...natural."
The two men sat in silence for a moment longer, listening as the sound grew louder, closer. It was accompanied by faint scratching, like claws dragging across metal, and an unnatural clicking that sent an uneasy vibration through the air.
Outside their cell, a pair of officers stood guard. One of them shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward the hallway. "Do you hear that?" the younger cop asked his partner.
The older cop frowned. "Probably just the vents. Rats, maybe."
Aamon sat up slowly, his movements deliberate as he leaned toward Anundr. "We need to figure out how to stop whatever's coming," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
"Without making a scene," Anundr added, his calm tone betraying a hint of urgency.
Aamon glanced at the guards, his mind racing. "First, we need them out of the way," he murmured. He tapped his finger against his thigh, thinking.
"I'll distract them," Anundr said, his tone firm.
Aamon smirked faintly. "Always straight to the point, huh?"
Anundr shrugged. "No point wasting time."
The sound grew louder, closer, a guttural growl echoing through the station. One of the guards drew his weapon, stepping toward the hallway. "Stay here," he told his partner.
As the first guard disappeared down the corridor, the second officer stood by the cell, visibly uneasy. Aamon leaned forward, his voice low and disarming. "Hey, officer," he said smoothly. "You might want to check on your partner. That sound doesn't feel like rats."
The officer hesitated, torn between protocol and the growing sense of dread.
Anundr stood, his imposing frame casting a shadow over the cell. "You don't want to be here when it gets closer," he said simply, his voice carrying an undeniable authority.
The officer swallowed hard, his hand twitching toward his holster. "Stay put," he muttered before heading toward the hallway, leaving the two men alone.
Aamon stood, stretching his arms. "Alright. Now we just need to figure out what's about to tear through this place."
Anundr glanced toward the shadowy corridor beyond the cell bars. "Whatever it is, we don't let it get out alive."
Aamon smirked, his usual dry humor creeping back into his tone. "Sounds like a plan."
[Sunday Night, 23:00 – Police Station Hallway – The Officers' Perspective]
The hallway was dimly lit, the flickering bulbs casting sporadic shadows across the cracked walls. Officer Miller adjusted his belt nervously, his palm resting on the grip of his sidearm. The low growls and scraping noises that had been echoing through the station now felt suffocatingly close.
"Stay put," he muttered to himself as he approached the corner where his partner, Officer Jackson, had gone minutes earlier. The silence ahead was deafening.
"Jackson?" Miller called out, his voice shaky.
No response.
The unease in Miller's gut turned to dread as he noticed dark streaks on the floor ahead. Blood. Thick, pooling blood.
"Jesus Christ…" he whispered, drawing his weapon instinctively.
The hallway seemed to stretch infinitely as he moved closer. Then he saw it—Jackson's flashlight lying abandoned in the center of the corridor, its beam casting an eerie glow on something unrecognizable. Limbs twisted at unnatural angles, flesh mangled and torn, barely recognizable as his partner.
A guttural screech erupted from the shadows, making Miller jump back, his heart pounding. The source of the sound stepped into the dim light, and his breath caught in his throat.
It looked like a deer at first glance, but the details were wrong. Horribly wrong. Its body was emaciated, ribs visible beneath taut, patchy skin. Its legs were too long, jointed in the wrong places, and its head—oh god, its head—twitched erratically. The eyes were empty, black pits, devoid of anything resembling life.
Miller aimed his gun, hands trembling. "Stay back!" he shouted, but his voice wavered, betraying his fear.
The creature tilted its head unnaturally, almost curiously, before taking a slow, deliberate step forward. Its mouth opened, revealing rows of jagged teeth. Deer didn't have teeth like that.
"I said stay back!" Miller yelled, pulling the trigger.
The gunshot echoed through the station, the bullet striking the creature squarely in the chest. But it didn't react. Not even a flinch.
"What the hell…" Miller gasped, firing again, and again, the bullets ripping into the thing's body without leaving so much as a scratch.
The creature let out another bone-chilling screech before suddenly rearing up on its hind legs. It towered over Miller now, its body jerking as if it were a puppet on strings.
"No, no, no!" Miller turned and ran, adrenaline surging as his boots slipped on the blood-slick floor. He didn't dare look back, but he could hear it—its heavy, uneven footsteps slamming against the ground, the grotesque clicking of its joints growing louder.
Just as he reached the corner, he risked a glance over his shoulder. The creature was faster than it should have been, moving with horrifying agility. It lunged, slamming into him with unnatural force.
Miller hit the ground hard, his head snapping back against the cold tiles. His vision blurred as he tried to crawl away, his legs refusing to cooperate.
The last thing he saw was the creature leaning over him, its empty eyes meeting his before its maw snapped open wide, impossibly wide.
And then there was only darkness.
[Meanwhile, in the Holding Cells – Aamon and Anundr's Escape]
The noise from the hallway reached Aamon and Anundr in their cell—a mix of gunfire, screams, and inhuman screeches.
"Looks like it's started," Aamon said calmly, standing up.
Anundr nodded, his expression stoic as always. "Time to go."
Without a word, Aamon raised his hand, the floor beneath him rippling like water. Slowly, he sank into the ground, his body disappearing as though submerged in a dark pool. Anundr followed without hesitation, stepping into the liquefied floor as it enveloped him.
Within seconds, the cell was empty, the unnatural noises in the distance continuing to echo through the station.
[Police Station Hallway – A Race Against Time]
Miller struggled to breathe, his chest tightening as the unnatural creature loomed over him. Its jagged maw opened wide, the acrid stench of decay washing over his face. Just as its teeth closed in, the floor beneath Miller liquefied, pulling him downward like quicksand.
The Not-Deer snapped at empty air as the cop vanished, replaced in an instant by the cold steel barrel of a shotgun.
BOOM.
The deafening blast echoed through the hallway as Anundr fired, the recoil barely moving his solid frame. The creature's head exploded, bone and sinew splattering the walls. Its lifeless body collapsed in a heap, twitching unnaturally before going still.
Anundr stepped fully into the hallway, his shotgun still smoking. Aamon surfaced beside him, carrying the limp body of Officer Miller.
"Check on the other one," Anundr said flatly, reloading his shotgun without a glance at the carnage.
Aamon gave a small shrug, his tone indifferent yet decisive. "On it. Handle the rest."
"Understood," Anundr replied, already moving toward the darkened depths of the station. His steps were measured, unbothered by the echo of inhuman growls ahead.
[Deeper Into the Station – Aamon's Task]
Aamon sank back into the liquefied ground, Miller's unconscious form floating beside him. They emerged in the hallway where Officer Jackson lay. His body was mangled, but not beyond Aamon's abilities.
"Lucky for you," Aamon muttered, placing a hand on Jackson's chest.
The floor beneath Jackson softened like water, and his broken body sank slowly. Ripples of energy coursed through the liquid as his wounds began to mend. The cop's ragged breathing evened out, though he remained unconscious.
"Good as new," Aamon said dryly, pulling both officers back to the surface. He glanced at Miller, still out cold on the floor beside him. "Not that you'll remember any of this, huh?"
[Elsewhere in the Station – Anundr's Hunt]
Anundr moved through the station like a predator, his shotgun raised and ready. The flickering lights did little to dissuade him as he navigated the maze of hallways. Every shadow felt alive, every sound an indication of movement.
The next creature appeared suddenly, its unnatural form lurching out of a side corridor. This one was larger, its grotesque limbs scraping against the walls as it charged him.
Anundr fired without hesitation. The shotgun blast tore into its chest, but the creature didn't stop.
"Persistent," he muttered, calmly pumping another round into the chamber.
The second shot blew its leg clean off, sending it crashing to the ground. Before it could recover, Anundr stepped forward and pressed the barrel of the shotgun against its head.
"Stay down."
BOOM.
[Back in the Holding Cells]
Aamon and Anundr reappeared in their cell as though they had never left, the unconscious officers placed carefully in a secure spot nearby. The blood in the station had been washed away, the evidence of the creatures hidden beneath a fabricated story.
Aamon leaned back against the cold wall, lighting a cigarette. "Bear attack," he muttered, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.
Anundr glanced at him, his expression unchanging. "They'll buy it?"
"Of course," Aamon replied with a faint smirk. "Who wouldn't believe a bear did all that?"
Anundr nodded slightly, sitting down and reassembling his gear in silence.
As the first rays of dawn began to creep through the barred windows, the two sat calmly, their expressions unreadable, ready to face whatever came next.
[Morning, Monday – 10:00 AM: The Police Station]
A throng of reporters gathered outside the station, microphones in hand and cameras rolling as they tried to get answers about the "bear attack" that had left two officers injured and a dead bear in the parking lot. Inside the station, Officers Miller and Jackson sat in the briefing room, visibly shaken but alive.
Neither could recall the night clearly. Their memories were fragments—flashes of growls, movement, and a gunshot. Both had been given medical evaluations and declared fine, save for minor scratches and bruises.
In the holding cells, Aamon leaned casually against the bars, his cigarette unlit between his fingers. Beside him, Anundr sat on the bench, arms crossed, his stoic gaze locked on the far wall.
A persistent reporter managed to slip through the crowd and approached the cells. Her determined expression showed she was eager for a scoop. She gestured to Anundr with her microphone.
"Can you tell us what happened that night?"
Anundr's eyes flicked to her, his face unreadable. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it, shaking his head slightly.
Before the reporter could push further, Aamon stepped in, his tone smooth and measured.
"Of course. I'm happy to clarify."
The reporter turned to him, her eyes bright with interest. Aamon straightened, slipping into a demeanor so calm and professional it could convince even the most skeptical listener.
"It all started late last night," Aamon began, his voice carrying just the right balance of gravity and reassurance. "Officer Jackson was doing a routine patrol when he heard a strange growl from the direction of the parking lot. Thinking it might be an animal, he went to investigate. That's when he saw it—a large bear prowling near the station."
The reporter's eyes widened slightly, and Aamon continued without missing a beat.
"Jackson shouted for backup, and Officer Miller responded. Unfortunately, the bear must have felt threatened, and it charged. Jackson managed to fire a warning shot, but it wasn't enough to stop the animal. The bear knocked him down, leaving him unconscious."
He gestured subtly toward the briefing room, as though empathizing with the officers' ordeal.
"Officer Miller showed incredible courage. He took the bear down with his sidearm and, despite the chaos, managed to carry Jackson back inside the station. It was a close call. Miller passed out shortly after from what seemed like a panic attack, but thankfully, both officers are fine now."
The reporter scribbled notes frantically, clearly buying every word. "And the bear? The one found in the parking lot?"
Aamon nodded gravely. "That's the one. Miller must have dragged it there after the attack, either out of instinct or adrenaline—it's hard to say. The important thing is, both officers survived, and no one else was harmed."
His explanation was so detailed and composed that it left no room for doubt.
The reporter hesitated, then nodded. "Thank you for clarifying. It's a relief to hear such a heroic story."
"Of course," Aamon said, his tone warm. "Those officers deserve all the credit. They acted with bravery in a situation most of us couldn't imagine."
The reporter left, satisfied, and Aamon leaned back against the bars, his calm demeanor returning to its usual detached simplicity.
Anundr shot him a glance. "You're good at lying."
"Not lying," Aamon replied dryly, lighting his cigarette at last. "Just rearranging the truth."
Anundr shook his head slightly, returning his focus to the far wall. "Let's hope they don't come back for more."
"They won't," Aamon said with a faint smirk. "People only see what they want to see. A bear attack makes sense. No one's looking any deeper than that."
[Monday, 11:00 AM – Police Station]
The hum of activity in the station was almost deafening. Phones rang, papers shuffled, and officers moved about in haste, trying to shake off the chaos of the previous night. Chief Morales, the same grizzled man who had overseen the initial arrest, strode into the holding area. His face bore the tired lines of a man who had seen too much and slept too little, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"What a way to kick off a Monday," Morales grumbled, his voice rough but laced with humor. "Never thought I'd start my week with a bear attack and two cops in the ER."
He stopped in front of the cell, his gaze flicking between Aamon and Anundr. "Still, I'm glad my men are alive. Whatever happened out there, I owe you two for keeping your heads down and not making things worse."
Aamon, who had been casually leaning against the bars, straightened slightly. The moment Morales looked at him, his demeanor shifted. His usual bland detachment melted away, replaced by a warm and approachable charisma that felt almost too perfect.
The chief raised a hand before either man could speak. "Don't get too comfortable. Your lawyer's here, and as much as it pains me to say this, you're free to go."
Aamon stepped forward with a gracious smile, his voice smooth and kind as honey. "Thank you, Chief. That means a lot. And I want you to know, we've got nothing but respect for you and your men. I'm glad Officers Miller and Jackson are okay—last night was… chaotic, to say the least. But they held their ground. Brave men, both of them."
The chief's expression softened slightly.
"Please, give them my regards," Aamon continued, his tone so genuine it could have melted ice. "And if there's ever anything we can do to help, don't hesitate to ask. I mean that."
Morales nodded slowly, clearly disarmed by Aamon's sincerity. "Yeah… sure. I'll pass that along."
Aamon extended his hand through the bars, and Morales, after a brief hesitation, shook it.
"Thank you again, Chief," Aamon said, his grip firm but not overbearing. "You're running a tight ship here. It's impressive, really."
As Morales walked away, shaking his head slightly as if trying to process what just happened, Anundr finally spoke.
"That was…" He paused, searching for the right words, his voice low. "Something."
Aamon turned to him with an almost impish grin, the charm fading as quickly as it had appeared. "What? You didn't think I could be polite?"
"No," Anundr replied bluntly. "I didn't think you could sound like a damn flytrap. Sweet and harmless until someone steps too close."
Aamon shrugged, his tone reverting to its usual straightforwardness. "People like sweetness. It makes them comfortable. And when they're comfortable…"
"They don't notice the teeth," Anundr finished, his voice flat.
Aamon smirked. "Exactly."
As they were escorted out of the station, Aamon glanced back once, his expression unreadable. Whatever game he was playing, it was clear he was always five steps ahead. Anundr, for his part, didn't ask further. He knew better than to question the methods of someone who could talk his way out of anything—and do it with a smile sharp enough to cut.
[Monday, 3:00 PM – A Secluded Location Outside the Town]
Aamon sat on the hood of a battered sedan, his phone pressed to his ear, his expression blank and unbothered. Nearby, Anundr leaned against a lamppost, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched Aamon weather the incoming storm over the call.
On the other end of the line, Seth's voice came through loud and sharp, dripping with irritation.
"Three days, Aamon. Three days! You two disappear into some godforsaken mine, and I'm sitting here wondering if I need to send someone to scrape you off the walls!"
Aamon gave a noncommittal hum, his tone unchanging. "We handled it."
"Handled it?" Seth's voice rose. "You call this handling it? Let me break it down for you: one totaled car, one lawyer, one bail fee, and half a dozen hunters out here burning their paychecks to clean up after you. And guess what? The job isn't even done!"
Anundr's smirk widened slightly as he glanced at Aamon, clearly enjoying Seth's rant. Aamon, however, remained unmoved, as if the yelling were nothing more than background noise.
"You know what's worse?" Seth continued, his tone sharp with exasperation. "There's no more leaks to follow. The cult's wiped out, sure, but the eldritch creatures are still spawning. No answers, no leads—nothing but chaos. And you two just stroll back into town like it's a damn vacation."
"Chaos is part of the job," Aamon replied smoothly, his voice devoid of guilt.
"Oh, don't give me that Zen crap," Seth snapped. "Do you have any idea how thin the line is right now? If the public gets wind of how much outworld stuff is crawling into their town, it's game over. Mass hysteria. Panic. The kind that ends with bodies piling up in the streets."
Aamon's silence on the other end only seemed to fuel Seth's frustration.
"You're lucky, you know that?" Seth pressed. "When you burned out those parasites last night, people forgot everything by morning. Like it never happened. That's the only reason we're not in a full-blown disaster right now. And even that was a miracle."
Aamon finally spoke, his tone still maddeningly calm. "It's done, Seth. The cleanup is what it is. What's next?"
For a moment, the line went silent, save for the faint sound of Seth muttering angrily to himself. Finally, he exhaled sharply. "You're insufferable, you know that?"
Anundr, watching this play out, chuckled under his breath, a low and mocking sound meant entirely for Aamon's benefit. "He's got a point," Anundr said dryly, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
Aamon shot him a sidelong glance but said nothing, turning his focus back to the phone. Seth wasn't done yet.
"And don't think I didn't notice the bill from the police," Seth added, his voice sharp. "The lawyer, the repairs, the fines—that's your whole paycheck, gone. At this rate, you two might as well be working for free."
Aamon leaned back slightly, his tone shifting to something almost teasing, though still quiet. "Consider it an investment. The town safer now."
"Safer?" Seth barked a laugh, bitter and tired. "Sure. Safer until the next thing crawls out of a crack in reality and starts eating people."
Another hum from Aamon. Anundr finally spoke again, his voice low and casual, but with the faintest edge of sarcasm. "Maybe next time, send someone else to the mines. We'll take a vacation."
"Don't tempt me," Seth growled. "Just… figure out how to finish this before things spiral even further."
"Understood," Aamon said simply, ending the call with a faint beep before Seth could throw another retort.
Sliding the phone into his pocket, Aamon turned to Anundr, who still had that amused smirk plastered on his face.
"Rough day?" Anundr asked, his tone light and mocking.
"Not as rough as his," Aamon replied blandly, nodding toward the phone.
Anundr chuckled, shaking his head. "Flytrap routine's not gonna work on Seth, you know."
"Doesn't need to," Aamon said, his tone unchanging. "It's not him I'm trying to catch."
With that, he pushed off the hood of the car, his expression already shifting back to his usual blank demeanor as he gestured for Anundr to follow. The next mission loomed, and for all the chaos Seth raged about, Aamon and Anundr had no intention of letting the city fall—no matter how thin the line became.
[Cafe – Late Afternoon]
The small, dimly lit cafe was quiet, save for the clink of silverware and the soft hum of quiet conversations. Aamon sat across from Anundr, who was calmly slicing into a thick, juicy steak. Aamon, as usual, stuck with something simpler—a sandwich and a coffee.
The waitress came over, pen ready in hand, and Aamon gave his order with his usual straightforward tone. "Sandwich and coffee."
Anundr, glancing at the menu, ordered something more fitting for his size and appetite. "Steak. And a beer."
The waitress hesitated, glancing down at the menu, and then looked up with a faint smile. "Sorry, we don't serve beer here, sir."
Aamon glanced at Anundr with mild amusement before turning back to the waitress. "Just give him steak and iced tea, then. That gorrila is easy to please"
The waitress nodded and walked off to place the order. Aamon picked up his coffee, but the moment he did, something in the air shifted. He stiffened, the cup almost slipping from his grasp.
There, entering the cafe, was a girl. Not just any girl, but the one Aamon had saved from the hotel basement, the girl who knew him only as "Nobody."
She walked in, her eyes scanning the room, and then her gaze landed on Aamon. Her face went pale, and she made a gesture—a sharp, silent gasp, her finger pointed at him.
Aamon's face tightened, and for the briefest moment, cold sweat broke out on his forehead. She hadn't seen him since that night. No one knew who he really was, not her, not anyone. He was just "Nobody" to her—a shadow, a faceless savior.
Anundr, noticing the sudden tension, glanced at the girl and then back to Aamon, a smirk curling on his lips. "Your girl?" he said, voice low but laced with amusement.
Aamon glared at Anundr, his expression hardening. This was a real problem. They couldn't afford exposure. Not now. Not ever.
Anundr's demeanor shifted almost imperceptibly. He saw the gravity of the situation now—how things could spiral out of control if people started putting the pieces together.
Before the tension could escalate further, the waitress returned with their orders. Aamon made a move to pay for their food, but the waitress stopped him. "I'm sorry, sir, but you can't leave without eating. We don't waste food here. It's hard to come by, and disrespecting it would mean permanent banishment from the cafe."
Aamon glanced at Anundr. Neither of them were particularly concerned, but the situation was delicate. There were too many eyes on them now, and things had already started to unravel.
Then, as if to add to the complication, the girl—Nikki, as Aamon remembered—walked over to the table, her face conflicted.
"Aamon, right?" she asked, her voice low.
Aamon shock but ack calm "how you know my name?".
She replay "i saw you on news about two cops been attack by bear", she lean forward to aamon and whisper "you save them don't you."
Inside aamon head "Fuck", Aamon replay with smile and kind gesture "oh, but i din't know what you saying about",
filled with uncertainty. "What's going on here?"
Diana, Nikki's friend, followed her, confusion written all over her face. Nikki seemed to be gathering her thoughts, eyes flicking nervously between Aamon and the waitress.
"Diana," Nikki began, her voice steadying. "This is the guy. The one who saved me from being kidnapped by those… those cult people."
Diana blinked, looking between Nikki and Aamon. Then, a laugh escaped her lips, not understanding the full weight of the situation. "Wait, he's the one who saw you half-naked?" She grinned, clearly unaware of the tension building. "Well, he's lucky."
Aamon didn't even blink at the comment, but inside, his mind was racing. He leaned slightly toward Anundr. "We need to knock them out. Clear their memories."
Anundr's voice was quiet but firm. "Too many people. It'll complicate things further. Can't do it here."
Aamon let out a heavy sigh. His mind was calculating, but there was little choice now but to play his part.
He stood up slowly, keeping his demeanor calm and friendly as he turned to Nikki and Diana. "Look," he began, his tone smooth and rehearsed, his voice taking on the pleasant, almost innocent quality he used to mislead and deceive. "I know this is going to sound strange, but let me explain everything."
Nikki looked at him warily, while Diana's curiosity piqued. Aamon's eyes flicked briefly to the waitress, ensuring no one was paying too much attention before continuing.
"I found Nikki in a dark alley," he said, keeping his voice steady. "She was drugged, barely conscious. I saw the whole thing unfold—she was being dragged by a few men, part of some terrible group, but I stepped in, helped her out." He glanced at Nikki, trying to ensure she didn't speak out, before adding, "But everything that happened after? The cult, the parasites, the creatures—it was all a hallucination. A side effect of the drugs they gave her."
He paused, letting the words sink in, then offered a reassuring smile. "It wasn't real, okay? None of it."
Diana looked at Aamon, her skepticism clear, but she was buying into the story. "So, it's like, just a bad trip?" she asked, trying to make sense of it.
"Exactly," Aamon replied smoothly. "I'm a photographer. I was just doing my job, trying to help her get away from bad people." He paused again, looking at Nikki. "And the rest of it? All that... craziness you saw? It wasn't real, Nikki. You were just in danger. But you're safe now. That's all that matters."
Nikki hesitated, her eyes narrowing slightly. She didn't seem convinced, not completely. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't speak, as though trying to hold something back.
Anundr watched the exchange carefully but said nothing. His focus never wavered, even as Aamon worked his deception with effortless grace.
Diana ask one more thing "then why you dont called the cops".
Aamon replay "wellt the town people already there to help, so it unnecessary"
Diana nodded slowly, looking at Nikki. "Well, I guess it makes sense, right?" she said, almost as if talking to herself. "But... Nikki, you've got to be careful. You're really lucky to have gotten out of there alive."
Nikki still didn't seem fully convinced, but she bit her lip, keeping her thoughts to herself. She glanced at Aamon, her eyes still filled with confusion, before turning to Diana. "Maybe he's right... maybe it was just the drugs. I don't know."
Aamon gave a soft, understanding nod, playing the part. "It's okay. We all have our secrets. But no one has to know the truth. Not yet."
Anundr's voice was a quiet murmur from behind Aamon. "Just make sure they believe it."
Aamon sighed again, but this time with a trace of weariness. "I always do."
And with that, the game was set in motion. They had bought themselves some time—time to keep their secrets intact, time to erase whatever risk the girl's memories might pose. Time, always, to make sure no one learned what they really did for a living.
But Nikki's eyes told a different story. She wasn't so easily fooled.